Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Apart from the whole name thing, which is difficult to fudge, I don't know who I am. I understand some of my preferences, but even these are fragmented and contradictory. I do not satisfy myself or a definition with any of the responses I give. I am not a vocation or a hobby or any of the other things I do, but I have no other handle. Maybe that's why About Me's always turn into a vague joke.

In Systematic Theology we learned to define the persons of the Triune God by their relationship to each other, not by their roles which are all entertwined since they are one being. The only method of distinction is by referring to the Son as he is eternally begotten by the Father, from whom the Holy Spirit eternally proceeds.

My father is Keith, my mother is Esther, and I am a brother to Matthew.

Even if it would never cut it in a job interview or as an introduction to a girl's parents, I am fine with that. I guess one has to start slow during a quarter-life crisis.

Monday, January 15, 2007

I didn't just kneel. Physically unable to stand, I crawled to the porcelain god. Once there, I bowed low and offered every last ounce and residue of ingested contents to her. Repeatedly. A necessary evil, I haven't considered repentance an option, although I do feel forgiven after each deeply religious experience. And I simply flush it all away. Maybe I should be asking the forgiveness of Lake Ontario. That sounds right, but first things first, I'm parched. Anyone else for a glass of tap-water?

Now, able to stand without the assistance of a wall, I can walk the road to recovery. Hopefully it'll only be a quick detour before I step up to the real world full of health once again.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

to be taking a course that involves music and theology. U2 and Bruce Cockburn as theological resources! This course (Music Prophecy and Culture) is engaging, which is light-years beyond the Spirituality and Health course I tested out earlier today. I don't have much to say or do in a class that wants to explore the cathartic healing process of creative writing. What's next, interpretive dance with the ambient sound of waterfalls and exotic birds playing in the background? I suppose the routine could get fairly innovative - those flimsy liberals have no spine. (Did I just tarnish the reputation of contortionists?) Don't get me wrong, I am thankful that I haven't gone through a severe illness that would require some sort of psychological mop-up. But it's just another reason why I don't belong in that particular classroom.

Hopefully the Canadian Contextual Theology course tomorrow will be dramatically superior and I will have no problem dropping the Health course like the hateful waste of time it is.

I've been feeling negative recently. Like I want to take a bite out of the world and spit it out with a sneer on my face. That's not me ... so I guess something's wrong. Unfortunately, in this scenario I fall solidly into the category of 'man'. I won't be able to self-analyse with even remote sensitivity until much too late. This means that the cause of this quirk will remain concealed until I'm disabled enough to recognize it. Great!

Maybe I'm pissed about growing up, about not knowing what vocation suits me and a time that requires decision rapidly approaching. Or could it be that I am edgy because I wish I was a superhero and I'm coming to terms with my lack of wall-climbing ability.

I want to go on writing (heck, maybe it is cathartic) but I see no end to this late-night, stew-fueled, hyphen-bearing post. So I will cut the umbilical connection without questioning who the mother is: you or a politically confused user of onionless foods.